


Thirteen Dreams

by Lassarina Aoibhell (Lassarina)



Category: Persona 3
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-31
Updated: 2010-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-11 09:26:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lassarina/pseuds/Lassarina%20Aoibhell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He dreams of her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thirteen Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> This fic owes a great debt to Syvia's "Made to the Living," which settled into my brain halfway through the game and refused to let go. I wrote this as soon as I finished P3P.

Shinjiro dreams.

_"You can't have him yet." That's her voice, fiercely angry, and her hands pressing the wadded-up cloth against his chest. She sounds suspiciously close to tears, and if he could talk, he'd tell her to let it go, that this body's just about had it anyway. He's only sorry he didn't say a proper goodbye, and that he won't be there to take the hits for her anymore._

It burns like fire, and it's getting harder to breathe, so it's not really so bad that darkness is closing in. It won't hurt anymore.

It doesn't rattle like the Shadow in Tartarus, doesn't breathe icy air down his neck and radiate terror. It's kind of warm, actually, which Shinjiro appreciates, given that it's October.

**"You can't have him,"** she snarls, and he wonders who she thinks she is, to order Death.

Its voice is surprisingly young, like a ten-year-old boy's. "Everyone comes to me, in the end." Shinjiro can't see it, and wonders if it's the Grim Reaper of popular art—which would be really weird with that voice—or actually a boy Ken's age, which would be even creepier.

"Not him. Not yet." She speaks with authority and assurance, though desperation tinges underneath it.

The warmth starts to fade, and the concrete is damned cold, and so are her hands.

The last thing he hears before it's all black is her saying, "Not yet."

Sometimes he hears a beeping from far, far away, and it's annoying enough that he wills himself back to sleep, despite the nagging certainty that there's something he needs to get up and do.

But sleeping is weird, too, because he dreams. He dreams of the Dark Hour, and in his dreams it feels like his consciousness rides on her shoulder as she fights her way up Tartarus. He's never understood how that small a body can take as much punishment as it does, and the ghostly whisper of Personas erupting out of her head gives him chills. It's not natural for one person to wear so many masks. Then again, maybe that's how she keeps the group together: she _can_ be everything for everyone. Even if she runs herself ragged doing it.

It helps, to see them move forward, but it hurts, too. All he sees is battle. He's not aware of her any other time, and he wishes he could see her with the bright joy that lit her face the night he sat her down in the dorm and they talked until dawn, when he prodded her to tell him about her clubs, and her friends, and anything that let him see a little more of her life.

He misses the simple peace of her smile when she found his watch and gave it back to him.

He can't even help her fight. He can't stand between her and the Shadows.

_She's not fast enough to get out of the way Mudoon spell that the Shadow just flung, and he has to hover uselessly while Aki flings her out of the way and takes the hit for her. He grits his teeth when that idiot, weaving and staggering, just manages to land a blow, and then punches the air and cries, "Did you see that, Shinji?" Aki's been at this long enough to take better care of himself. He could've at least used Diarama before he went charging back in, when a breeze would knock him down._

But they get stronger, and they climb. And something about them changes. He notices it in Aki first, a new assurance and determination that makes him seem older, but then one by one it happens to all of them. Mitsuru stops keeping the mental report card that he knows she always carries, or at least keeps it less visibly, and seems more comfortable with the power that her family forced upon her. The others, too, wear their changed Personas more easily, and he's proud of them. He wonders what Castor would have become.

He's there when they fight Strega, every time, when Chidori gives up her life for Junpei's, when Death arises. He watches all through what must be December, when they all look incredibly anxious over something they don't discuss in the Dark Hour, and then watches that anxiety turn to a determination that's different, that has a steel core they refuse to let go.

And he's there when she fights Nyx alone, when she races headfirst into it alone. He knows why, and finally understands why she thought she could command Death.

_"If more people were like you, maybe the Fall could have been avoided," Death says as it rises up and calls down the power of the moon._

She follows it, though she can barely stand. The others can't stand at all. She forges forward, the same way she climbed Tartarus, one foot ahead of the other.

He feels the blow when Nyx tries to strike her down again. It must be furious at how well she'd choreographed that last battle, smoothly changing tactics at a moment's notice. It's a testament to the strength of the team she's built that they followed her lead without question or hesitation, and Shinjiro's proud of all of them. Nyx isn't, and strikes out with all of her strength. She staggers and drops to one knee, but doesn't fall.

He hears the voices of the others echoing around her, feeding her strength. He knows how to speak aloud so they can hear him, and how to whisper so only she will know.

"You know what you're doing?" he asks her.

"Yes. And I know the cost." She smiles. "I wish I could be there to watch you wake up."

"Don't you worry about me," he says, and the next words won't come, but he sees in her eyes that she understands what he means.

"I know you'll be alright," she says, and her eyes are tear-bright.

"Let's do this," he says, louder, so everyone can hear it.

So many people that trust her completely. So many people utterly confident that she will save them, even if they don't know about the Dark Hour, don't understand why she pops into their minds.

Death will come for all of them in time, but not today. She gives herself up and seals it away.

Shinjiro doesn't dream after that, at least not of the Dark Hour. He goes back to being cocooned in a warm, if lonely, darkness. He can feel it lessening over time.

_"It's time to wake up." She's sitting on the edge of his bed, and he hates that he feels self-conscious about the IVs and the wires and all the rest of that crap. "I have to go soon."_

"I know," he says, but it's hard. Even in a dream it's hard to think of waking up, of getting up. His body feels so heavy.

She squeezes his hand. "On the roof," she says, "on Graduation Day."

"I'll be there," he promises. He's always been careful not to make promises, because he didn't know if he could keep them, but he knows this one has to be kept.

She smiles, and clasps both his hands in her tiny ones. The shadow of Death that's been hovering over him, waiting patiently, seems to dissipate into mist and drain into her. She grows paler and the skin stretches taut over her bones--not quite a death's head but no longer a healthy high school girl. He sees the dark shadows beneath her eyes that shouldn't be there.

"I'll miss you," she says.

"It should have been me," he says.

She shakes her head. "You couldn't have done it. None of you could." It's not arrogance, just a bone-deep--soul-deep--certainty. "I'm glad I got to know you."

The last of the mist fades into her, and he realizes that not only has she drawn away the bullet's damage, but all the damage he did to himself over years with those damn drugs. No wonder each breath seems to be harder for her to take. He remembers that sick kid at the shrine that she used to go and visit, and thinks she looks very much like him.

He opens his mouth to say what he couldn't when she fought Nyx, but she's already gone.

When he opens his eyes, the doctors are amazed. Stunned that, after five months in a coma, he's suddenly and completely awake. He stays in bed for two days, because that's how long he's got until Graduation Day, and he can feel how weak his legs are. No damn good if he can't get to Gekkoukan's roof in time to say goodbye. Even if the others don't know it's goodbye, he does.

It's painful and it's hard, but he gets there in time to squeeze her hand and see her smile one last time, her head resting on Aigis's legs, before her eyes drift closed and she slips away. He doesn't give a damn that all of them can see him crying, because hiding it would mean he wasn't willing to show he cared, and that's just bullshit.

She gave him a gift, and it's his to use as he sees fit. He looks up into the sunshine, turns his face into the spring breeze, and breathes deep.

He'll see her again. He'd better make sure he's got plenty of stories for her, when he does.


End file.
